Lovebites in the Morning, Lovebites for the Evening
by dauntlesszemrys
Summary: This is a sequel to Goodnight Gregory, Good Morning Mycroft. They've spent their first night together, and started their relationship on the right track. Sherlock notice's the DI's strange behavior and is set to find out who Lestrade's lover is. How will he react to the new couple? Mystrade love; complete and utter fluff!
1. Chapter 1

The air smelled of sex and cologne, a blend of the two men now entangled with each other in the large bedroom. Mycroft was holding onto Greg's torso, snuggled so close he was half on top. Their heartbeats were calm and relaxed. Mycroft, used to rising early, woke up first and spent the time just watching Gregory sleep, his beautiful brown eyes closed. When Greg finally stirred, he gazed down at Mycroft's staring up at him on his chest and laughed, smiling brightly.

"That's the best thing I've ever woken up to," Greg said, twirling Mycroft into the sheets and leaning on his side to press their lips together. Mycroft's hands circled around to Greg's back, anchoring himself to the other man. It was like a dream, picturesque and perfect.

Feelings weren't Mycroft's area, never had been. But this wonderful, one of a kind man had awoken a dormant side of the politician. A side that knew deep down that caring about people WAS an advantage. The ice man was far away when Greg Lestrade was near to keep the ice melted. Strangely, he liked the feeling of being bare and without barriers in front of him.

"You are so gorgeous this morning. I want to see you again tonight." Greg said, face so close to Mycroft's, giving him butterflies in his stomach.

"I want to see you all the time, over and over again. I feel like I should have known you all along Mycroft Holmes. Do you get this insane feeling that we're…"

"…made for one another. Yes Gregory, I do…" Mycroft admitted. A phone rang somewhere in the room and Greg closed his eyes in frustration. He kicked off the covers and padded about the room completely naked until he located his phone in his trouser pocket near the door.

"Hello?" Greg asked, sitting on the side of the bed. Mycroft crawled on his hands and knees to the Detective Inspector and mouthed kisses along the back of his neck, just below his soft silver hair.

"Yes, on my way. Goodbye," Lestrade said, flipping the phone off and laying his head in his hands.

"A case I suspect," Mycroft said, disappointed that his lovely morning was ruined. He hadn't had a lie in with someone he cared about in years.

"One day off. Can't the bloody criminals give me one damn day off?" Lestrade asked to no one in particular.

"The government never sleeps my dear," Mycroft reminded him. Greg smiled softly and turned around to face Mycroft. They were as naked as the day they were born and it was the most comfortable they had ever been.

"Before you are forced to depart, I want to give you something," Mycroft said, beckoning for Greg to follow him. The silver haired fox settled into the lush black pillows, allowing Mycroft to straddle his lap. "I want to let everyone know you belong to someone," he whispered, then suckled on the soft tan skin in front of him. Greg's eyes fluttered, enjoying the feeling of the other man's hot mouth on his neck. Teeth nipped skin, and their hands met on the bed, holding and squeezing. Mycroft released him with one last suck and pulled back to admire his work.

"There," He said with a smile. Greg laughed and touched the hickey, large and light purpleish red. They shared a chaste kiss, and then got up out of bed to dress. Mycroft opened his wardrobe and Greg stalked around to slip into his pants and trousers, but hesitated at the shirt.

"My?' Greg called, fingering the fabric of the deep blue shirt. Mycroft rushed out of the closet in grey trousers, still not zipped.

"Yes Gregory?" Mycroft asked. Greg shook out the shirt and held it out to Mycroft for him to put his arms through.

"I want you to wear my shirt today, so that when I see you tonight… I'll take you wearing it," Greg whispered in his ear, licking along the shell and tugging on the earlobe with his teeth. Mycroft slipped his arms through and Greg buttoned the buttons from behind. The shirt was large in the chest area, and hung awkwardly, but Mycroft tucked it into his trousers just the same. He quite liked the idea of being able to smell Gregory on his skin all day.

"But what will you wear?" He questioned curiously. Greg smiled and threw his suit jacket over his bare shoulder.

"Nothing at all! I can't think of a better way to walk out of your house. Don't worry; I'll have your driver stop at my flat before going to the Yard," Greg said, slipping his shoes and socks on. Mycroft dressed, covering his beautiful skin with clothing. He looked impeccable, save for the ill fit of the shirt. Lestrade smiled inwardly, knowing he was the one responsible for the small imperfection in Mycroft's uncrackable persona.

The driver pulled up in front of the door only ten minutes later, giving the couple enough time to snog goodbye.

"Tonight, we stay in. I plan to investigate tonight," Greg teased as he walked out the door and into the car. Once he picked up a dirty blue shirt off his floor haphazardly, he climbed back into the car and ordered it to the Yard. Timothy, as the driver was called, pulled up close to the door and dropped him off with little fuss.

"Thank you Timothy," Greg said. Timothy was an elderly man with a comb over of white hair and a full weathered face. It was kind and nonjudgmental. He offered a smile and drove away as Greg walked into the yard, his hickey from the morning on full display for everyone to gape at. Why yes, I did get laid last night by the most gorgeous man in all of London; be jealous, Greg thought. He took the stairs two at a time and finally wound into the office, Sherlock and John already sitting in the chairs with Sgt. Donovan leaning on his desk, annoyed that the genius little detective was here again.

"I'm here, you can stop trying to kill each other now," Greg announced cheerfully.

"Lestra-AAH! Oh my god what the hell is that?" Sally shrieked, pointing at his neck. John whipped around in his chair and his eyebrows shot to his forehead.

"'S a lovebite," Lestrade said proudly, touching the sensitive spot on his neck. Sherlock whipped up and stared intently at the mark. Used to the treatment, Greg stood perfectly still and delightedly stuck his neck out for all to see. He wished that Sherlock would deduce who it came from so he could record Sherlock's reaction. Then Lestrade imagined getting ripped to bits and decided maybe that wouldn't end very well.

"You didn't go home last night." Sherlock said, face betraying that we was uncomfortable deducing the rest. Perhaps that was John's influence, teaching Sherlock what was appropriate to say and what wasn't. Greg nodded and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Astute deduction Sherlock, positively brilliant," Lestrade said in a tone that couldn't even be disguised as anything but witty sarcasm. Sherlock glared, but said nothing. It didn't escape Lestrade's sight that John was congratulating Sherlock on his silence.

They went over the details of the case and Sherlock solved it within two hours, complaining about how easy it was. Greg just smiled through it for the second day, thinking about Mycroft and occasionally finding himself prodding at the hickey.

The day passed quicker than the day before, and Lestrade got into his car, still parked in car park from the previous morning, and drove to Mycroft's with a plan in his head. The door opened on the first knock, and there was Greg's perfect lover, standing in his trousers and the blue shirt still in place. Lestrade swaggered into the hallway and kicked the immaculate front door shut, closing out the world.

"You're still wearing the shirt," Greg commented, flicking the buttons open. Mycroft smiled and grabbed the detective's hand.

"Yes, it seems I am. So, since I've been so obedient, it's time to receive the reward for all my trouble," Mycroft whispered, leading them up the stairs back to the bedroom Lestrade had been in just that morning. He breathed out deeply, the sense of home flooding his senses.

"Are you ready for your reward?"


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade went home that night after they were finished. Mycroft had urgent with Japan that he had been putting off and Lestrade needed to shower and clean about his flat. While picking up the second load of laundry from his floor, he absently wondered if Mycroft would be disgusted by the way he lived and where he lived. It was a second rate flat in a not so nice neighborhood; certainly not an area for one of the most powerful men in London. Greg shook the thought of Mycroft being disgusted by him out of his head. He didn't need to worry about that. The shower spray was a welcome feeling to his aching body. It was a nice, dull sort of ache that on equates with the feeling of accomplishment.

_Goodnight Gregory_ Mycroft sent around two in the morning. Greg settled into his own bed, wishing he had a warm body next to him to warm the sheets.

_Good Morning Mycroft_ he responded.

His dream was of Mycroft, smiling and laughing with him. He loved that laugh, loved being the reason behind it. Never in Greg's life had he been attracted to anyone this quickly. Mycroft took a strong tough Detective Inspector, and turned him into a lovey dovey teenage girl.

The weeks that followed were much the same. Sometimes, Mycroft would spend the night at Greg's flat and sometimes Greg would go to Mycroft's. There were unfortunate nights that work kept each of them late, more so often Mycroft than Greg. Nights in were spent over takeaway and crap telly they never caught the end of. It was domestic bliss. They began to understand more the constant ups and downs of their respective partner. Mycroft always knew when Greg was having a rough day or when his ex-wife had called yet again to spout some garbage. Greg knew just what to do when Mycroft was under a lot of stress, holding him tight and letting him hide in Greg's chest.

Every day, Sherlock seemed to get even more suspicious. Even John couldn't resist posing a curious question or two. When asked who Greg was seeing, he would just shrug noncommittally and smile at his secret. The new couple made a promise (however that promise was quite one sided when Greg made Mycroft swear under threat of a wooden spoon) that they would go out to dinner at least once every two weeks. Greg didn't mind that Mycroft was extremely busy, and began to see more and more of what Mycroft did, which was basically to run the entire bloody country. Mycroft didn't mind that Greg was a rugged man, not quite used to luxuries. In fact, Mycroft liked that Greg was rough, because it was an escape from having to be perfectly put together and posh 24 hours a day.

Their sex life got stronger every time they spent together, learning their way around each other's bodies and figuring out just what could make their lover squirm.

"Gregory, I have a proposition for you," Mycroft said one evening, the couple curled together under a blanket on Greg's couch, EastEnders on in the background just to have the noise.

"What's that love?" he asked tiredly, staring down at the head of ginger hair on his chest and playing with Mycroft forearm that rested on top of the blankets. His fingertips swirled little patterns absentmindedly.

"I find it increasingly difficult when I am forced to be without you and I plan to remedy that problem," Mycroft said. Greg smiled, hoping Mycroft was going to ask what he thought he was going to ask.

"I wish for you to move in with me. It is an extremely strategic move for both of us and you always talk about how much you don't like your flat and-" Greg cut him off by swooping down and planting a kiss on the politician's perfect lips.

"To hell with it. I'd love to move in with you Mycroft Holmes," Greg sighed happily. Mycroft sagged into him, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and smiled. The next week was spent packing what little Greg owned and hauling it to Mycroft's. There was very little settling in they had to do, as much of Greg's things were already taking up the empty spaces in their home. Greg's guitar went next to the grand piano in Mycroft's –now their- office. Surprisingly, they had no lover's quarrels or tiffs about how the home was run. Nothing was said about where the bathmat went in the bathroom and no one complained when a pillow was stolen from one side.

"You moved out of your flat. Where did you move?" Sherlock asked Lestrade one day while he was bringing Sherlock cold cases to help alleviate some of the boredom.

"I- ah- I moved in somewhere nicer," Greg said. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. If he caught something, he didn't show it. John raised an eyebrow when Sherlock tried to communicate telepathically.

"Right, I'm off. See you boys," Greg announced, whistling down the stairs. When he got into his car, he decided that Mycroft was spending far too much time in the Diogenes club and not enough time going to dinner with his boyfriend. The engine roared to life and he watched the road carefully, deciding it was time to change that.


	3. Chapter 3

In 221b Baker St….

Sherlock should have suspected something was wrong when Mycroft hadn't annoyed him in over two months. It should have been a warning sign. The consulting detective paced back and forth in front of the smiley face wall, pinning a piece of string back into its place. Was it possible? Could his brother be embarking on some sick love affair? He observed his web of possibilities, equating all the facts. Who was it? Who was his brother seeing? Surely it had to be someone of power and someone Mycroft liked. But Mycroft didn't really like anybody. He hated all those dignitaries and all the stuck up morons of parliament. So who? Could it be someone they knew? It infuriated Sherlock to think it might have been in plain sight and having missed it all this time.

"Don't mind me I can get them," John called from the stairs, lugging bags from Tesco up to the begrudgingly clean countertop.

"Got a case on?" He questioned, collapsing in his chair, obviously waiting for the water to boil in the kettle he put on the stove.

"No, I'm tracking the movements of my brother." Sherlock said, beginning to pace again, the silk of his dressing gown swirling about his calves as he walked.

"I'm going to regret asking this… but why? What do you think, that he's plotting your downfall or something?" John teased. Sherlock stopped his pacing to give John a face that says _do-you-have-to-be-so-stupid_. Sighing, he decided to explain the story.

"I have reason to believe that Mycroft might be... seeing someone." Sherlock shuddered at the thought of his brother being anything but a purely asexual being. John's eyebrows rose comically and he grinned.

"Are you serious? You think Mycroft bloody Holmes is having it on?"

"In less crude terms yes. But I need proof John," Sherlock stared at the wall again, pondering.

"You really need a case, don't you?" John said. Sherlock waved his hand behind his head at John.

"Nah this is much more fun. Now, I think it's time I made a visit to my dear brother." The transition from dressing gown to coat was completed in a manner of seconds, hardly giving John time to register what was previously stated.

"Are we going to try and spy on your brother who practically is the British government?" John screeched, having his coat forced up his shoulders. Hands pushed him towards the door roughly.

"We are not going to just try, we are going to succeed!"

"Yeah hang on and let me take the bloody kettle off!" John sighed. Removing the nearly there kettle from the stove and turned the heat source off, following Sherlock down to the street.

"This is insane," John murmured to himself, piling into a cab as Sherlock spouted the address. London went by in a flash and they arrived at the house, the windows were dark. The pair crept to the front door and Sherlock got busy picking the lock with his tools. Once secured, they walked into the house and closed the door, locking it again to avoid suspicion.

"No, this is curiosity," Sherlock said, glancing around and plopping down on the couch to make himself comfortable.

"Well you know what they said about curiosity and the cat." John muttered back.

"What does a feline have anything to do with curiosity?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"You haven't ever- you deleted that too? Yeah never mind," John shook his head and stood in front of Sherlock.

"Seriously though we shouldn't be in here…we should-" John started, going silent when he heard voices. The voices were laughing. A key fumbled in the lock and the door was swung wide open, two people frantically kissing each other and slamming the door shut. Sherlock switched on the light and what they saw was mind boggling. Mycroft was half out of his waistcoat and Lestrade was frozen with his hands on the other man's behind. John's eyes widened massively, glancing from Lestrade to the ginger haired Holmes and back again. Sherlock stared forward, completely shocked. He didn't move and seemed like he might have broken somewhere in his head.

"Why the hell are you two in our house?" Greg asked. Mycroft's ears and face tinged bright red, but he stood straight and tall, putting on a comeuppance smile.

"Our house? Greg… this is? Holy shit," John swore, running his hands through his short sandy hair for lack of something better to do.

"Oh for god's bloody sakes stop acting so shocked both of you! We are both adults who chose to be together like any other normal couple. Now if you don't bloody mind, I'd like to get on with my evening," Lestrade opened the door for the doctor and his Holmes, who was quickly running his tail out of the house as fast as he could. The front door slammed shut and John burst into absolute laughter.

"Oh Jesus the look on your face was priceless! I wasn't expecting it sure, but you were simply scandalized!" John teased when they got into the cab. Sherlock grimaced and rubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes while John threw his head back and laughed.

"I'm never going to unsee that." Sherlock bemoaned. John laughed all the way home.


	4. Chapter 4

They sat together on their couch in their home watching Murder by Death, which happened to be one of Mycroft's favorites. The actors on screen went about their business, the blind butler put all the stamps on the desk instead of on the letters, and Maggie Smith came on screen seconds later. The ginger haired politician had his head in the DI's lap, Greg absent mindedly played with the errant ginger curl that refused to be tamed. The fire crackled in the fireplace and both men were preoccupied with their thoughts.

Greg wanted to propose, tonight if possible. The aura was perfect, the scene reflected relaxed romance. Everything had to go according to plan, so what happened if Mycroft rejected him? Mycroft was not one to settle down and be content with calm domesticity. He stroked his partner's shoulder, clad in only a button up, which was highly dressed down for Mycroft. Suddenly, it struck him, the perfect way to pop the question. It felt like lightning striking his heart. Quickly, he reached for the remote and muted the movie.

"Gregory, I was watching that you know," Mycroft said, only slightly cross.

"Yeah well I have something for you. So just… sit there… and, um, don't move a muscle," Greg said, moving Mycroft to an upright position on the couch and standing up to rush through the townhouse and up to the bedroom. He speed walked through the door and slid down to his knees to grope under the bed for the tiny box. It was blue velvet from the shop. He popped it open and stared hard at the silver band with a sapphire embedded in the silver circle. Snapping the top, he shoved the box into his pocket and picked up his guitar, slinging the instrument over his shoulder. He tuned the strings as he went, rushing back to Mycroft, who had his arms crossed across his chest in faint annoyance.

"Gregory, what are you-" Mycroft began.

"Mycroft Holmes, I have something to say to you. Just listen," Greg said. He picked out the chords and notes, starting off with the melody. Opening his mouth, he started to sing, a little shaky at first but gradually picking up in volume and confidence. "Forever can never be long enough for me, to feel like I've had long enough with you. Forget the world now, we won't let them see, but there's one thing left to do. Now that the weight has lifted. Love has surely shifted my way. Marry me, today and every day. Marry me, if I ever get the nerve to say "Hello" in this café. Say you will. Mm-hmm. Say you will."

"Together can never be close enough for me to feel like I am close enough to you. You wear white and I'll wear out the words I love and you're beautiful. Now that the wait is over and love and has finally shown her my way. Marry me, today and every day. Marry me. If I ever get the nerve to say hello in this café, say you will. Mm-hmm. Say you will. Mm-hmm. Promise me, you'll always be, happy by my side. I promise to, sing to you, when all the music dies. And marry me, today and every day. Marry me, if I ever get the nerve to say hello in this café, say you will. Mm-hmm. Say you will, marry me. Mm-hmm." He strummed the final chord and dared to look back up into Mycroft's shining blue eyes, glistening with tears. Greg put down the guitar and walked forward to stand directly in front of his ginger haired politician, then got down on one knee and opened the box.

"In case you didn't catch the point… Will you marry me Mycroft Holmes?" Greg asked, smiling with hope. Mycroft, in a rare show of emotion, but his hand to his mouth and shook his head up and down violently.

"Yes, yes, dear god yes!" He exclaimed. Greg took the ring out of the box and slid it onto Mycroft's delicate pale finger. They stood in unison and embraced, Mycroft's head fitting perfectly in the crook of Greg's shoulder.

"I'm so glad you said yes, I was so nervous you would…" Greg stuttered, barely managing to get the words out before a pair of lips stunned him to silence.

"Gregory Lestrade, why in the world would I ever say no? How highly illogical!" Mycroft said. They burst into fits of laughter, enjoying the moment. Greg peered over his fiancé's shoulder at the clock on the wall and smiled.

"Mycroft?"

"Yes my dearest?"

"Look at the time," He gestured softly. Mycroft spun around his arms and pressed his back to Greg's chest.

"It's one o' clock in the morning." Mycroft observed, unable to keep the smile from his gorgeous face.

"It's late," Greg said, kissing the back of Mycroft's neck, inhaling the sweet scent of expensive cologne, nice scotch, and some type of spice so completely Mycroft.

"Goodnight Gregory," Mycroft said, pulling away to lead Greg to their bedroom.

"Good Morning Mycroft," Greg finished, gladly following through the hallways.


End file.
